


face the day and wear a smile

by marriottsmushrooms



Series: maybe it's inevitable [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Arguing, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Will being a supportive bf, the long awaited finale of this shitty trilogy, we STAN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marriottsmushrooms/pseuds/marriottsmushrooms
Summary: "I'm fine," George murmurs. "It's just- not great.""Course it's not fucking great. I have half the mind to go round there and tell 'em what's what.""Don't, Will. Just leave it, yeah?" George speaks softly. The more he talks about it, the more reminders he gets of the things that they said, the more he never wants to see them again.





	face the day and wear a smile

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo
> 
> Didn't really think there was going to be a part 3 but here we are
> 
> This will be it for this dinky series
> 
> Have a class day/night
> 
> Don't do crack
> 
> -the mushmeister

"I'm not leaving it like this, George," Will states firmly. He paces back and forth, and George would find it somewhat comedic if Will's constant movement wasn't making him feel a little sick. He has his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them and his arms connected in front of his shins. Will paces in front of the coffee table, back and forth, biting at something on his thumb. George shuts his eyes. He doesn't seem to be anything other than tired. He thinks he's still grieving.

"Will, just sit down," George murmurs sharply, reaching forward and tightly gripping Will's thin wrist. He pulls Will back, to sit on the sofa.

"'S not fair, George. Look at you. You've hardly slept, you look ill. I can't fucking believe they'd say shit like that."

George shuffles, bringing his knees down, and moving closer to Will. George links their arms and intertwines their hands, resting his head on Will's shoulder.

"I'm fine," George murmurs. "It's just- not great."

"Course it's not fucking great. I have half the mind to go round there and tell 'em what's what."

"Don't, Will. Just leave it, yeah?" George speaks softly. The more he talks about it, the more reminders he gets of the things that they said, the more he never wants to see them again.

George feels stuck, stranded between a rock and a hard place. At first he thought it'd be easy to decide, forgive and forget or just forget. But he doesn't want to do either. He knows there are people who love him, Will, Alex, James, to name just a few, and it would be so easy to just pretend his parents didn't exist.

It's not that easy, he learns. He can't let them go. As much as he wants to, he can't, he couldn't just forget the people who raised him, the people he cared for, who cared for him. But if he stays, pretends nothing has happened, what will that do to him?

He shakes his head to get rid of the steadily approaching tears that make his eyes glossy and his waterlines full. He lets go of Will, shuffling away slightly. He coughs and swallows, so that he can talk.

"I'll figure something out. You don't need to get involved."

"But I want to."

"Well I don't want you to!" George snaps. His hands fly up to cover his eyes. He's sick of Will seeing him like this, weak and vulnerable, eyes teary. His throat goes dry and seems to close up. "Please," George whispers. He presses his hands against his eyes firmly. He's so sick of crying. Sick of feeling like this and sick of people pitying him. "Will, just fucking don't."

"George-"

George stands up quickly. He doesn't even look at Will, just heads straight to their room, bringing his hands down. He feels so trapped here, so stuck. He doesn't know where to go or who to turn to that can stop him feeling like this. Feeling empty.

He sits down on his side of the bed, hands in his head and he huffs. He feels stupid, silly for letting something so small control his life like this. Then he thinks that it isn't so small, but maybe he's wrong. He doesn't know, and can't be bothered to think.

He just wishes he didn't have to lie. Now every move even slightly involving them will be done with precaution until George becomes this robot, programmed not to be his real self, programmed to lie and programmed to hide, until George is just the shell of a man that he used to be. He doesn't want to fear them, fear talking to them, for the risk that he'll lose them. He doesn't think he wants that, but at this point, George doesn't exactly know what he wants.

  
Will comes in after giving George time, and sits silently next to him on the bed. Neither of them say a word. George lets himself fall sideways to lean against Will. He can't stay angry, not that he was angry to begin with. Just frustrated, George tells himself.

Will reaches over and runs his hand through George's hair, smiling slightly with sad eyes.

"'M sorry," Will murmurs. "I shouldn't have pushed it. I should have listened to you."

"I'm sorry I left. I should have talked to you. But I will now. And I'll listen too," George murmurs. "Did you want to say something?"

"Just, d'you think we'd- you'd- get anything out of talking to 'em again?"

"And say what?" George asks almost silently, focusing on his hands that sit in his lap.

"Tell them, maybe? Tell 'em the truth? I'll come with you, stay outside or whatever, but George, you don't want to lie like this."

George nods. He knows Will is right.

"You'd come with me?"

"Course I would."

-

George regrets it the moment he steps out of Will's car. It's all the same as that morning, everything. The car, the house, the dull weather, the time of the day is relatively similar. Even the surroundings make him feel a bit ill. He remembers standing here, tears in his eyes and imagining the careless boy he used to be, with his toothy smile and not a care in the world.

He's weary to step forward, weary to show his face in front of the two people he once trusted and relied on for everything, but who now seem to be ready to abandon him if he does something that in any way they disagree with. It's terrifying, and to George it feels like he's treading thin ice, and if he says the wrong thing, and sets off a tripwire- then it may well be the end.

He looks back, and Will smiles at him lovingly, displaying a thumbs up. George smiles back reluctantly, butterflies in his stomach. Turning forward again, he makes his way to the door. His butterflies are so vicious that he doesn't think he can talk.

He's expected, he knows he is, because he called his mother this morning and she told him to come round. But George still can't help but feel like he's intruding, unwelcome. Maybe he is.

He knocks the door.

  
"Why have you come here again, George? Have you been kicked out of your apartment or something?" His mum asks, stood by the kettle. Everything is almost exactly the same as it was before.

"No, I just, want to talk to you about something," George shrugs. He feels more confident this time, maybe it's because Will is backing him up, and he thinks he knows the outcome.

He doesn't know if he's truly ready to let go, let go of his parents and let go of the support they gave him, but when he looks forward, and sees James, Alex, Will and all the other people who he knows love him, and always will, he thinks it not so bad.

"Well your father's in the living room," his mum states. George can't help but notice that her smile is forced, and her tone of voice is cold. He doesn't really care.

"George," his father greets him as he stands in the doorway. "Come sit down."

"I'm not staying," George tells them firmly. He watches confusion fall over both their faces. He could almost laugh.

"Alright," his mum says quietly, sitting down. "Then why are you here? You said you had something to say?"

George shuts his eyes for a moment, and prays that everything goes to plan. He doesn't sugar coat it, doesn't waffle on beforehand to put off saying what he came here to say. He doesn't care enough for that, and although his butterflies are spreading through his bloodstream so that every part of his body aches just from anxiety, he doesn't care enough about trying to bulk up the conversation, try to lead up to it. It seems pointless.

"I lied to you," he starts, keeping his breaths slow as the butterflies in his stomach settle. He doesn't look at his parents, instead directing his gaze to the window, where he can see the back garden. It's overgrown and messy, nothing like how it used to be. He takes a deep breath and calmly delivers the lines he had been memorising for the last day.

"I am actually dating a guy. I pretended it was a joke, because you acted like _that_ , but it wasn't. I was trying to tell you, and you put me down, and that's not my problem any more. I don't give a damn if you don't support me, 'cause at the end of the day, I'm happy, and I have him." He breathes out. He looks back at his parents, neither of them looking at him. His mother looks solemn, and his father is hunched over, his head in his hands. George doesn't care how they feel. "He's here, if you want to meet him."

It feels very back and forth, for George, lies and then confessions until none of them, not even George, know what is true and what is false. He won't address it again, not out of the blue, not without someone else initiating it. It gets tiring after a couple times, until the butterflies just weigh him down like his stomach is full of sand, and he's exhausted when he even thinks about bringing it up.  
  
"George, you're fucking frustrating, you know that?" His father speaks. George looks back over at the window, leaning further into the doorframe as if it would swallow him up and send him spinning through the walls of the house to spit him out in the front garden, where he could run to Will and never look back. He doesn't look at his father. He doesn't want to. He doesn't think he needs to.

George hums, a simple response to his father's statement. He's too tired to fight back. He doesn't need to stand his ground, not when he's fought so hard before, and now he has Will, to take the seat and defend him whilst he heals.

"Why can't you just be normal, Georgie?" His mum asks quietly, sighing. She doesn't look at him, her gaze wandering to the other side of the room. "Why do you have to say all these things?"

"Cause it's true," George shrugs. He feels lost for words, not sure what more to say. He's done his explaining, said all he needs to, and he knows he has because he's thought about it night after night.

"Can I meet him, this lad of yours, then?" She asks. George nods, although she doesn't look at him, and pulls out his phone.

Not thirty seconds later, George is hurrying to the front door to let Will in. When he sees him, stood awkwardly, hands clutching each other in front of his thighs, and rocking back on his heels, George hugs him quick. It's only brief, hands thrown around Will's waist, his head buried in Will's shoulder, but it's enough for George, who pulls away after seconds and grasps Will's hand.

It's reassuring, having him there. It's two against two now, they're equal, instead of George having to tackle them both on his own. He finally feels strong enough to paint himself how he wants to be painted in their eyes, instead of letting them paint all over him until he's the perfect child they want him to be. Until he looks how they want him to look. Until he's the opposite of who he wants to be, their successful, handsome son with a wife and kids and a flourishing business and all the things that George just doesn't want. Now that Will's here, he has evidence, he has proof that someone else accepts him, that someone else loves him for who he actually is, and he can prove to his parents that they are the only ones who don't support him. He can finally show them that he's not alone in this, finally stand up and show them that he isn't on his own any more.

"So it's you, huh?" His father talks, all rough and grumbly as he stands up, sliding his hands into the pockets at the front of his trousers and letting his eyes scan over Will. "You're the one who's been converting my son?"

"Mate," Will starts, and George smiles a little, because only Will would call his boyfriend's father 'mate,' the first time he met him. Just another one of Will's loveable quirks. "'S not like that. 'S not like that at all, alright?"

"What's your point?" George's father almost spits. George looks at his mother, who watches Will with an unreadable expression.

"I love George the way he is, right? And 'e likes to shag blokes, and that's good wi' me. Should be good with you too, fella." Will pulls George in front of him, wrapping his arms around George's biceps, hugging him from behind. George can't help but feel embarrassed. "He can't help the way 'e is. Just the way he was born, 's like me, 's like our mates. Just the way it is. Nothing wrong with it."

"Get off my son," George's father orders, steeping forward. George steps back, clutching Will's wrists and pushing him back slightly too. George's eyebrows furrow, clutching tighter when Will goes to pull his arms away.

"Shut up, Dad. You don't get it, alright. Whatever, that's fine, but don't tell us what to do. You don't get a say here."

"You'll listen to me when I tell you to do something. I'm your father-"

"C'mon, George," Will speaks harshly, glaring at the older man stood in front of them. "Not doing this anymore. Not letting you do this anymore." He pulls George back, turning around and pushing George gently towards the door.

"Stop being such a knob, yeah?" Will snaps.

"You can't stop me from seeing my son."

"He doesn't want to see you mate, trust me," Will jibes, turning around and hurrying after George, who is at the end of the drive. He quickly unlocks the car, and George climbs in. With one last grimace at George's father, who stands, shocked in the doorway, he clambers inside, pulling the door shut behind him with a satisfying clunk.

"What did we just do?" George asks quietly as Will pulls into the road, heart still racing and mind straying away, thinking of what just happened.

"Told your dad to fuck off, essentially," Will murmurs nonchalantly.

"Right."

There is a blissful moment of silence. It lets them both calm down, let them get their breaths back, lost from nerves, lets the butterflies leave, no longer any reason to stay.

George doesn't feel different, not at first, but then, as it sinks in, he feels everything slip away, worries and panic and all the things that made him feel ill, bought him to the verge of tears and over, all the things that made him stop believing, made him doubt who he was. All gone, just like that.

"I say we get some shitty drink and get pissed to celebrate," Will murmurs, seemingly focused on the road. "Get Al and James round or somethin'."

George huffs, smiling. He watches people go by, wonders what makes them happy, what worries they have, what worries they've recently conquered. Wonders if they'd be as proud of him as he is of himself. He wonders how they feel currently, how they have felt recently, wonders where they come from and what there families are like. He dreams up endless possibilities for each one, and gives them all happy endings, so they get the chance to experience what he has. So they get released from the cages they sit inside, formed from anxiety and panic.

He turns to Will and smiles.

He wonders what Will is feeling, if he's as relieved as George is. He knows Will is proud of him, he gets told it every day, and George tells Will back, all gentle murmurs, and hands in hands. He doesn't have to wonder where Will comes from, what he's like, but he dreams up endless stories for him anyways, giving them all happy endings, and slotting himself into every one. He'd spend forever with Will in a heartbeat, but they both know that already.

"Yeah," George mumbles. "That sounds good."

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't let this flop
> 
> Also send requests I know I always ask but please I need something anything please fuel my fire


End file.
